


The Highest Price

by ConnecticutJunkie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crafty!Sansa, F/M, In the Not Too Distant Future, Pay Attention to What the Maester Tells You, science is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnecticutJunkie/pseuds/ConnecticutJunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa squires for the Hound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Highest Price

Title: The Highest Price  
Author: Connecticut Junkie  
Rating: PG-13ish.  
Summary: Sansa squires for the Hound. (Spoilers through mostly the first four books) Crafty!Sansa  
Pairing: Sandor/Sansa  
Length: ~2700  
Disclaimer: everything belongs to GRRM. Long life to him. Now hasten your pen, good sir.

  


  


oOo

  


Sansa had never been out in rain like this, pouring so hard it hurt when it hit her flesh and so steady she hadn't been dry for hours. Stranger and her own palfrey were growing increasingly reluctant to continue but there had been no sign of a shelter, and cowering under a tree would be stupid and useless. She was thankful for the thick sable cape around her and the second, older wool cloak underneath it, but as the night fell deeper, the cold seeped in, and some of the rain was frozen.

In the never ending pulses of light that came from within the clouds she could see the Hound, his face stern and his eyes focused. She found it strange how he had changed so much yet stayed so familiar, although the years since she'd last seen him had surely influenced her as well. She wondered if he found her as curious as she'd found him. Physically, she had grown quite a bit, but she was also not the girl he'd known. _I've even been an entirely different person between then and now.  
_  
The lightning within the clouds had become almost constant, the strobes made her dizzy and unsure of where they were. The path was narrower, and they could no longer ride side by side. Though he was only a few paces ahead, the curtain of rain was so thick she could scarcely make him out, and the ground had become nothing more than mud. They were proceeding so slowly it was almost like going in reverse.

The thought made her shiver more than the sleet. If he had not shown up, unexpected but no less unwelcome, she would still be a pawn in Petyr's game. This time she had not hesitated to flee with him; everyone knew the Hound only served. He could hold all the knives he cared to hold to her throat; now she would happily give him what he'd wanted but not taken. Loyalty was a rare commodity, and such rarity commanded the highest of prices.

It was strange, though. He hadn't asked her to pay, not even a copper's worth of herself.

Unlike her days at King's Landing, when he seemed to always have a hand on her, he had yet to even give her the smallest of touches. The only time he'd had any contact was when she'd hugged him the first day he'd shown up at the Vale, and that was but the briefest of arms around her before he'd stepped back.  
 _  
Maybe he is a changed man._ He'd shown up in the robes of a novice with a group of sparrows, although still with armor and sword as the roads were safe for no one. After the shock of seeing him alive had faded, it had almost amused her. But now, without having even spared one glance at her bosom, which put the much smaller one she'd had at King's Landing to shame, she considered the possibility that maybe he had found piety.

Only a few years ago she might have pouted and cried over not getting what she wanted. But Alayne had taught her to see a new opportunity instead of failure, hope where Sansa had only seen despair. _We will be traveling for some time. He will have needs his gods cannot satisfy._

There would be more beds to share and camps to make ahead of them. On the first night of their journey they had not stopped, eager as they both were to put distance between themselves and the Vale. But on the second night they had made a camp, and she'd surprised him when she'd put her bedroll next to his.

He'd protested, but she'd fixed him with her gaze and said, "You swore to protect me, but with a fire between us you might hesitate should someone approach on my side."

The anguish he couldn't hide had threatened to break her, and her gut had felt like a knife had been twisted in it, but he'd complained no more of her bedding location. She'd spent each night since then an arm's length from him.

"Where can we shelter?" she called out to him when the rain was so heavy she could not blink the drops away fast enough.

She feared the wind would steal her words, but he stopped and looked back at her. "Past that hill should be a small village," he responded, and pointed ahead.

Sansa's heart sank. It was so close, but at the pace they were setting it might have been days away. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because he called out, "Little bird," and she shifted her gaze from the hill back to him. "We will make it."

She wanted to believe him, and reminded herself that he would not lie to her. She nodded, and they continued, one slow step by one slow step closer to shelter.

Finally they reached the valley floor, where she could once again draw her horse along his. She remembered Maester Luwin telling them how torrential rains could cause sudden floods in rivers and valleys, and was concentrating so hard on looking for a wall of water she didn't even notice the Hound reaching for her hand. He squeezed it, and she startled, before turning her gaze to him.

"Almost there," he rasped, and she could hear the relief in his voice. She squeezed his hand back before letting it go, her heart thumping at the small victory.  
 _  
It is small, but it is something, and it is more than I had before._

The way across the valley floor was swifter, though not fast by any means, but the lightning grew more ominous. No longer was it content to stay within the clouds; now it lashed down at the earth, each strike seeming closer than the last. The first thunderclap she heard made her shriek and cover her ears, and she burned with shame at her weakness but felt better when she saw the look on the Hound's face.

 _He is covered in armor; he should be afraid._ She also remembered Maester Luwin's teachings on lightning, and feared for her companion. _Out here on the valley floor he is the tallest thing, and he is metal.  
_  
Her fear for him emboldened her, and she yelled at him to hurry, kicking her heels into her mount. She kept her at a slow trot, but in the sodden earth it felt reckless. What felt like hours later they reached the bottom of the forested hill, and she reined up under a small rocky overhang that gave only the slightest shelter. She quickly tied her own horse to a nearby tree and waited impatiently for the Hound to do the same.

As he dismounted, a flash so bright it looked like daytime hit her eyes and the thunder was almost immediate. Her horse panicked, and Sansa tried to calm it while the Hound did the same for Stranger. A second bolt of lightning lit them up again and this time Sansa could hear the crack of a tree being struck before the thunder covered that too.  
 _  
He will die because of his dumb nasty horse,_ she huffed, and grabbed his hand, tugging him away from Stranger and under the overhang. He had just taken off his helm and robe when he noticed her hands poking at his pauldrons, not quite sure how they worked.

"Help me remove your armor before you get roasted in it," she pleaded, and he wordlessly lifted his arms so she could see the buckles. Each piece she pulled off got tossed to the ground as far as she could throw it, and as he loosened his gorget, she stood on a rock to gain better access. Her hands were around his neck before he could finish the buckles, and she tugged so gracelessly on it some of his hair was ripped out. She would have felt guilty if there was room enough inside her for anything other than fear.

His baldric was undone in seconds and if he took objection to his scabbard clattering onto the floor he did not voice it. He raised his arms again and she shimmied the chainmail up and over his head until it too joined the pile of armor building on the forest floor.

"This is not how I pictured you undressing me," he said, and she could tell it had been meant as a jest, but honesty had robbed it of all humor.

"Nor I," she answered, and made sure he could hear her honesty as well. On her rock she was eye level with him, and he grabbed her sodden hair and held her face while his eyes bored into hers. She kept her own eyes steady. _I have seen monsters, and he is not one. At least not with me._

His thumb traced her brow, then her cheek, and she finally closed her eyes as his face neared hers. She waited for a kiss that never came; instead his forehead pressed against hers, his breath warm against her face as he panted. There had been desire in his eyes, this she was certain of, and though her heart sank it was not crushed. _He kissed me once, and he wants to again, I know it.  
_  
She moved first and pressed a light kiss to his forehead before he released her face. His gauntlets were still on, and she removed them as well, although with less haste. She let her fingers brush against him as she undid the buckles, and through the fabric she could feel him shudder. The gauntlets were added to the pile, and she took in his form. Even wet and in nothing but his doublet he was massive. _He could rip me apart with his bare hands,_ she thought, but instead of fear it only caused a fluttering low in her belly and an ache even lower than that.

"Help me down," she whispered, although she was perfectly capable of doing so herself. He did, and she noticed his thumbs almost touched when he wrapped his hands around her waist. Gingerly, he picked her up and set her against the wall of the overhang, as far from the rain as possible.

Sansa felt almost silly. _I have been waiting for him to touch me, forgetting that he has been trained to follow orders._ Here was not the time or place to further the matter, though she could certainly push him a bit farther.

With the grace she'd been taught all her life, Sansa eased onto her knees and knelt before him. "Sansa?" he choked out, his rasp even harsher than normal.

She smiled up at him with all the innocence she could muster. "Your greaves."

She leaned forward to unbuckle the left one, and her face was level with his groin. It was obvious that she affected him. When she turned her attention to the right greave, she casually let her head brush against his breeches. He jerked as if he'd been struck by the lightning that was still flashing outside, and took a step back from her. "I'll get it," he grunted, and almost broke a buckle in his haste.

She turned away so he wouldn't see her smile, and began brushing the rocks from the floor. There was a pile of leaves that would give some cushion, but everything was too wet for a fire.

"We'll stay here for now," she told him, and took satisfaction when he nodded. He might protect her, but she was no longer a child who took orders. His robe was puddled on the floor already, but it was wetter than the leaves were. He dashed to the horses for their bedrolls, and Sansa wished they could have made a fire so she could convince him to strip down and let his clothing dry. He was the first man she actually wanted to see naked, and it surprised her how often her mind set to imagining what he'd look like.

Once he had the bedrolls on the ground and himself stretched out, she steeled her nerves. Petyr had always warned about showing one's hand, but whenever she thought of his lessons her stomach roiled and so she ignored it. If she could not show her hand to the Hound, then she truly had no one left.

Almost with a flourish she removed her sable cape, and watched his face as she handed it to him. The wool cloak beneath it had been white once, but she'd refused to wash the soot and blood out. There was no reaction, and disappointed, she lay on her own bedroll. He was much closer than an arm's length, as there was not much room, but it might as well have been the Narrow Sea between them. She shivered until he threw the fur cloak over both of them like a blanket, and tried to blink back her sudden tears. _Alayne_ _would straddle him until he gave in,_ she knew, but Sansa could not bring herself to do that. Yet.

Her sobs were silent, and he must have mistook them for shivers, because he asked her if she was cold.

"Yes," she answered, glad for the excuse. Except his hands were around her waist again, and soon she was flush against him, his arm thick and heavy on her chest.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, as though the storm was his fault, and her spine tingled as his breath warmed her neck. "We'll only stay until it passes."

She nodded, and now that they were out of it the sound of the rain was almost relaxing, although she felt bad for the horses. With his arm around her and their bodies warming she was almost comfortable. Sleep beckoned, but she resisted; her chances had never been better.

"Why were you at the Quiet Isle?"

His fingers were tracing small circles on her stomach. It was absently, and she knew if she called attention to it he would stop, but it made her almost giddy. Finally, he answered, "I had nowhere else to go."

She waited for further, but there was none. So she slipped her hand over his and said, "Me too."

That was as much as she cared to talk about Petyr.

The silence again settled in, until Sansa could not take it any longer. "The cloak I'm wearing is yours."

"I know."

Anger flared through her. _Then why didn't he say something?_ Perhaps he didn't realize the significance; she had been fleeing for her life, but took the time to bring it with her. Kept it hidden from Petyr and everyone else because the thought of them knowing had frightened her. Only Randa had seen it, once, and Alayne had quickly lied and said it was her dead mother's before hiding it away faster than Randa could notice it was far too large for a woman.

 _But how could he know that?_ She calmed herself.

"Do you want it back?" It wasn't as important anymore, now that she had him in the flesh, but it was only courteous to offer.

"Keep it, little bird." His arm tightened a bit, bringing her a fraction closer. She laced her fingers through his and brought his hand up from her waist to just under her chin. She pressed a kiss to it.

"Thank you," she whispered, and it was for more than the cloak.

He squeezed her hand. "I think I like the idea of you wearing my cloak," he jested, but as before the humor was overridden by his gravity.

Sansa smiled and thought of her own sable cloak spread over both of them, and maybe they would end up in a land where her first marriage meant as much legally as it did emotionally. "Me too."

  


-end-

**Author's Note:**

> The Hound wears his sword between his shoulders on the show, and his show armor was faster to reference than the book. Plus, I'm not sure he'd have his old stuff (helm excluded since we know he doesn't have that) so I took the liberty.


End file.
